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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205058">The Rush</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyne80/pseuds/anodyne80'>anodyne80</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The A-Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:54:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyne80/pseuds/anodyne80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A job in a church just before Christmas doesn't work out quite as expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Rush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Hannibal strode in through the front door. There had been jobs that had gone off worse, but not much worse. At times like this, he wished he had gone to law school 30 years ago like his father had wanted him to. What in the hell had ever possessed him to go into the service?<em> John Smith, Esquire -- sounds a bit arch, but I could've gotten used to it,</em> he thought. <em>I'd probably be bored to death right now, but at least I wouldn't be running all over the deep South chasing lowlives down I-10.</em></p><p>     He went into the living room, forgetting to take his boots off first. He looked down at the muddy footprints on the carpet. <em>At least I can use some of the money to get the carpet cleaned.</em> Making a concerted attempt not to rip the door off its hinges, he opened the antique slant-top desk, took out a bottle, and poured himself two fingers of bourbon. He tried not to knock it back in one gulp, although it took some effort. It helped that the bourbon was swill, not the good stuff he would have bought himself. He took deep breaths, the kind that were supposed to bring a sense of deep inner tranquility. It worked for about three seconds. <em>Longer than these fucking yoga tricks usually work for me</em>, he thought.</p><p>    Face came into the living room gingerly and stood near the doorway for minute. “Come on, Hannibal. It wasn’t all that terrible. We got the guy, didn’t we? We brought him back; the bail bondsman was happy. Mission accomplished, right?”</p><p>    Hannibal set the glass down on the desktop with a whack. “Mission accomplished. Well, yes. I suppose our mission was accomplished if you consider it our mission to have fucked everything up royally.” </p><p>     "Hannibal. Let's not exaggerate, okay?"</p><p>     “Uh-huh. Listen, if you don't consider disrupting a Mass practically on Christmas Eve to be fucking things up, then maybe one of us should be in a different business." Face started to speak, but Hannibal cut him off. "First of all, we were supposed to go in there inconspicuously. Inconspicuously, Face. A church full of deacons running around like the Keystone Kops isn’t exactly my idea of ‘inconspicuous.'"</p><p>     "All right. So it wasn't especially elegant."</p><p>     Hannibal sat down on the couch and started to take off his boots. "And believe it or not, it was not part of our job to set the goddamned crèche on fire," he said. "We almost burned down the whole church. And the Holy Family was incinerated. The baby Jesus was a tiny pile of ash, for Christ’s sake. You seriously think this wasn’t a giant clusterfuck?”</p><p>     “Well, you were the one who said we should create a distraction,” said Face.</p><p>     “Distraction, sure," said Hannibal. "What I had in mind was something pedestrian, like maybe dropping a hymnal, or having a coughing fit during the homily. Whose bright idea was it to set off a couple of bottle rockets? Was that my idea? No, I do believe it was yours.” He took off the second boot and tossed it a few feet away, leaving half a muddy boot print near the coffee table.</p><p>     “You’re a real glass is half-empty type, aren't you,” said Face.</p><p>     Hannibal stood up, rolling his eyes in silent exasperation. <em>I suppose this day could get worse, but I don't see how.</em> He reached for the bourbon and realized that he had finished the bottle. <em>Terrific. Chalk one up for the universe for giving me a quick answer, anyway.</em></p><p>     "Anyway," said Face. "All's well that ends well, right? Fifty thousand bail and five large for us. Not too bad for a few hours work, right?" Hannibal didn't answer. "Okay, so it was more than a few hours. Still, not too bad. It beats sitting in the barracks at Fort Leavenworth, doesn't it?" Hannibal was focusing hard at a point somewhere in the middle distance. "You have to admit that much."</p><p>     Hannibal flicked his gaze up suddenly. "Come to think of it," he said, "Why in the hell did we go into a church after this guy? Jesus Christ, is that even allowed?"</p><p>     Face hesitated for a few seconds. "Strictly speaking, no."</p><p>     Hannibal put his palm on his forehead and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Great. So our next job has to be some hedge against Judgment Day, then." He dropped himself down onto an armchair. "Maybe we'll see if we can recover a piece of the True Cross."</p><p>     Face shrugged. "I'd be up for it." Hannibal raised his eyebrows, trying not to smile too much. "Listen," said Face, "don't try to tell me you wouldn't be, too. Love of the adrenaline rush is contagious, you know that."</p><p>     “We're damned lucky we didn’t get arrested ourselves.” Hannibal paused and laughed. “For a few minutes I thought the Cardinal was going to run us both through with the crucifix.”</p><p>     “We would have died martyrs, then." Face kicked absently at the stains on the carpet. "Listen. I'm sorry about the bottle rockets. Next time I'll knock over a basin of holy water or something." Hannibal glared and started to speak. "But of course there won't be a next time," said Face. "Not in a church."</p><p>     Hannibal got up and wished he hadn't. Between the lousy bourbon and the knowledge that he was going to say about six thousand Hail Marys at his next confession, he just wanted to sleep. "All right, Kid. Get some better bourbon under the tree for me in a couple of days and we'll call it square." He started upstairs. "And clean up the mud for me, will you? If Stockwell comes down here and sees it all over the carpet, we'll never hear the end of it."⬥</p>
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